


Not Part of the Plan

by morganadarkwings



Category: Dancing on the Edge
Genre: Angst, F/F, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganadarkwings/pseuds/morganadarkwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set between episodes two and three of Dancing on the Edge. There are mega SPOILERS for episode 2.</p><p>"It scarcely seemed two minutes since they had stumbled into the room, clattering noisily on the floor and with their suitcases, squealing like children as they took in the hotel room which was to be theirs."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Part of the Plan

The silence in the room was deafening; the feeling of something intrinsic being missing, unbearable. Tonight she could not hear Jessie's deep breathing and soft noises of sleep in the darkness, and her own harsh breaths and quiet sobs were no substitute. Tonight the always-lingering scent of Jessie's perfume seemed to have vanished, and the only way she could remember it was to bury her face in her friend's pillow. She couldn't believe that in the panic and the distress, no one had thought to offer her another room to stay in; but it was selfish to even consider it, and she probably wouldn't have wanted to leave the room anyway. Somehow, she found that even without the sound and scent of Jessie, the room still strained at the seams with memories.

It scarcely seemed two minutes since they had stumbled, giggling, into the room with their battered suitcases, clattering noisily on the floor, squealing like children as they took in the hotel room which was to be theirs. It didn't matter that the rooms were not as grand as those on lower floors, or that they were not served by the lift (which they were in any case forbidden to use). It didn't matter that sometimes when the bitter wind howled outside the window panes rattled just a little, and that in the morning the bare (although polished) floorboards were like ice underfoot. It didn't even matter that they were not allowed to bring visitors to see where they were living and how well they had done, which was something she wanted to do so much that sometimes she felt the desire as a physical pain. But she had never actually met Jessie's family, if they were still of the earth, so perhaps it was better that way, if there was no one Jessie would want to bring back. All that mattered to them was the fact that they were together, and that the room was theirs.

Their second night in the hotel, Jessie had suggested they push the beds together to make it easier to talk before they slept, and, yes, to cuddle up when they wanted comfort or warmth. But she had quickly learned that Jessie was a fitful sleeper who often tossed and turned, sometimes striking out with her hands or feet, and after several painful incidents and many bruises, the idea was abandoned. Now, just as she knew anyone heartbroken regretted missed opportunities, she wished it hadn't been. She would endure any amount of pain to have Jessie back again, or to take her place.

Perhaps with their success, Jessie had expanded, and in turn, she had shrunk a little to make room for her friend - not that she ever minded - but now she felt the loss of her presence more keenly than she ever even imagined she could. It was as though she barely existed without Jessie; in fact, there was no 'barely' about it. She was defined by her proximity to, and friendship with, the woman she had known for as long as she could remember - the young girl with whom she'd traded whispered secrets behind their hands, the confidante with whom she'd experienced the changes in their bodies as they grew older - the woman who had become a star. People only knew her name when it followed Jessie's, only recognised her as part of the band when Jessie was at her side. And now her friend was lying in a hospital bed and she was powerless to help.

But the fact of the matter was, Jessie couldn't die. It wasn't part of the plan. Not Stanley's, or Louis', and especially not Jessie and Carla's plan. So it was as simple as that - she wouldn't allow Jessie to die and the plan to be ruined. But what could she do? Praying hadn't worked, and neither had the fact that Jessie was adored by hundreds - maybe thousands? - of people. There was no one she could throw herself on the mercy of and beg to ensure that Jessie lived; there was no amount of money she could pay to fix things. All Carla could do was sit, and wait, and bury her face in Jessie's pillow to breathe in her scent.


End file.
